


And Things Left Behind: The Day Before

by Pr3tz3l



Category: NU'EST, Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 17:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12657939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pr3tz3l/pseuds/Pr3tz3l
Summary: Minhyun wanted Jonghyun to stop talking now. His body started to shake, his breath was getting hitched and he was feeling nauseous. He wished there was something that he could say to make Jonghyun stop, but his words were painstakingly stuck at the tip of his lips, and the way his eyes rolled from left to right incessantly should give an indication that he wanted Jonghyun to stop, but the older male continued.“I am a code 404 all along.”





	And Things Left Behind: The Day Before

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! Major character death and implied homophobia, and if this might trigger unpleasant memories or anxieties, please don't read it. This was posted on aff a while ago, but now im posting only the second chapter here on ao3. Adjustments had to be made so that it can stand alone as a one shot, so I apologize if someone has read the story from the other site and get confused with the changes (I dont think anyone has/will read it tbh lol).  
> Title, Plot and Characters are not mine. Fic was based from Nell's And, Things Left Behind MV and Lyrics.

The echoing sound of the piano took Minhyun back from his deep thoughts as he finished plating the food that was packed for him and setting up his camera equipment. When Minhyun looked up from the white rustic table, he was welcomed by the sight of his best friend leaning against the wall with his dainty fingers air-pressing the white keys of the old upright piano. Jonghyun looked slightly sleepy and tired, which was different from what Minhyun used to remember him. Jonghyun was more than an epitome of a morning person, at 4 am he was ready to jog around the Central Park and still be energetic for a futsal game with their small group of friends, all four them including Minki and Dongho, back when they were in high school. Minki called themselves Nuest, he was always the cheesy one, and the rest just let him be.

The man in front of Minhyun now looked feeble and hollow cheeked, these past few years they were apart obviously had done something to him.

Something hurtful. Something that recklessly dug his spirit away from him. Something wrong.

Instead Minhyun gave Jonghyun a warm smile and pointed at the chair on his opposite. Jonghyun took a lazy look towards Minhyun and dragged himself towards the table.

“Oh, you’re awake already, have some breakfast now. Someone made it for me, for us.”

“I was craving for bread and wine, just like the Last Supper you know, but sandwich, bacon, and sunny side-ups are fine too.” Jonghyun took a seat, making a scraping sound as his chair dragged against the uncarpeted floor.

“Well, I do have some red wine here, but I don’t think you should have any alc-”

“At least its better than just high sucrose cereal to start an important day. Bon apetit.”

 

Minhyun had prepared to the best that he could to make _today_ perfect, from the choice of the red Carnation and white Baby Breaths (or _Admiration_ and _Innocence_ as Jonghyun would call them), the red-painted ashtray – a heritage from Jonghyun’s maternal side of the family - filled with crumpled notes of colored papers, and the worn bottle corks and little trinkets that God knows why Jonghyun had kept them.

Minhyun even played Jonghyun’s playlist, his feet lightly tapping to the beat on some songs he was familiar with.

 

Jonghyun took a bite of the bacon, closed his eyes to savor the crispy, fatty crunch of the thin pork belly, as if appreciating the effort taken to produce this blissful taste. He took another forkful and Minhyun was slightly glad that Jonghyun enjoyed his meal. He noticed that the man in front of him was getting more feeble and skinnier every time he met him. The housekeeper did mention that Jonghyun had been refusing meals, with the same unconvincing reason everyday – _I don’t feel the need to eat_.

 

Minhyun nibbled on his own chicken ciabatta sandwich, and didn’t realize how hungry he was that he practically inhaled the whole thing. Lucky for him, there were some white grapes in the basket that he could munch on before lunchtime. They enjoyed their food quite pleasantly, Minhyun doing most of the talking – about his life, about his plan after his contract with United Airlines ended, about his unlabeled relationship status - while Jonghyun listened and stared at the space just above Minhyun’s right shoulder. The older did briefly mentioned wanting to try the new dish by a 3-Michelin star chef, who supposedly experimented with the mysteries of the Korean folktales and incorporating it in his food storytelling. Minhyun made a promise to make a reservation and bring him to the restaurant for his birthday.

Minhyun popped another grape into his mouth and was commenting about the blossoming spring buds in Jonghyun’s garden when he was interrupted as Jonghyun suddenly stood up and walked towards the brown antique table at the corner of the room. He lightly rummaged the drawer and it didn’t take long before he came back with his notebook and a 2B beige pencil – the eraser end of the long pencil had gotten worn from too much use, as if there were no perfect words that can describe or translate Jonghyun’s thoughts to earthly expressions. It was the same notebook Minhyun had seen him using for the past few years, looking crispy new despite too much opening and closing, cold hands caressing every letters written on the pages.

Jonghyun pushed his unfinished meal – untouched triangle sandwich and half-eaten egg with its yellow yolk running to the plate’s side – and started writing down on a new page. Minhyun had his copy on the table, which his friend left for him 5 years ago, only his was yellowing and the carbon traces of the pencil was fading.

 

The aspiring poet Jonghyun, who gets inspired even with the unfolding of petals prospering into full flower on the roadside curb, always had his notebook nearby him to write. To record the sound of leaping frogs, to describe the fascination of a young boy with his reflection in the muddy puddle, to follow the track of the evolution of digital watches. His theoretical curiosity and deep thoughts were still no match to Minhyun’s (and their friends), yet the more puzzling question was how did the four unlikely bunch even got together at the first place, and oh my, what a group they were back in high school. They were not the only Asians in their batch, but language familiarity did bonded them at first, and the rest was history.

In terms of looks, Jonghyun hadn’t changed much from their childhood years besides the prominent cheekbones and a light scar on top of his left eyebrow. Minhyun might have stared a little longer on the scar, and his memory brought him to when they were 16 years olds. Jonghyun got the scar while defending Minki who was picked by the schools seniors for being “too pretty”. The hallway scuffle escalated quickly when one of the seniors pushed Jonghyun too hard that he fell and cut himself over the edge of the metallic water dispenser. Minhyun still remembered how raged he felt when he saw the blood dripping down Jonghyun’s face and with the strength he thought he never had, he punched the offender straight in his face. They were lucky (or unlucky) that an instructor saw the incident and managed to stop them right before a huge fight erupted. All of them were sent to the principal’s office and had to clean the schoolyard for a month – it was freezing November for deity’s sake - but no one dared to stir up a fight with them after that.

 

“So, what have you been doing while I was gone?” Minhyun asked after sipping his wine. Jonghyun took a pause from his writing, ended it with a period, and flipped to the next page.

“There was this book that I am re-reading. A poetry book actually. I suppose you might be inclined to yawn while reading it. You have always been such a,,, _book-bore_.”

 

Both of them laughed at the inside joke they made when they were younger. High-school-Minhyun disliked reading. He couldn’t, for the sake of his life, finish a chapter of The Old Man and The Sea without multiple yawns and had to rely on Jonghyun for their Literature class. History textbooks were his (and honestly, everyone’s) archnemesis, and there was never a time he was more rejoiced than when his exam result came with a subpar B, all thanks to Jonghyun and their late night study session. However, he was a genius in Calculus and Physics and gravity-defying mechanics that the school counselor had suggested aviation engineering for a career. Minhyun (and the rest of Nuest) wasn’t exactly surprised with the senior-year report card evaluation, but he had slightly different plans in mind. Instead of being the behind-the-scene technician designing and developing planes, he aimed to be the man right in front in the aircraft, having full control of a sophisticated machine and flying the vehicle through the blue cloudless sky. And he liked the uniforms too, that was the deciding factor when he applied to aviation schools right after the SAT.

He applied to a few colleges, but what he didn’t expect was to receive an envelope from Embry-Riddle that summer with a bolded all-capital **CONGRATULATIONS!** heading the letter. The certificate and experiences he received while training at a local academy had insured his admission, along with the stellar personal statement, which may have been 65% penned by Jonghyun (In his defense, he only asked for his friend to proof-read his half-assed work, not to change the whole sentence to a more structurally and wow-sounding paragraph). Money was not really a problem for all of them, and a position at their parent’s companies was fallback plans just in case their initial career went south, but Minhyun loathed how his father’s business had made a wedge in their family, causing his mother to die in a cold foreign hospital alone without a husband on her side.

Minki also defied his family and teacher’s expectations when he decided to go to into the fashion industry. Minki’s mind was set to study only at the Fashion Institute of Technology, the birthplace of his favorite designers – Klein, Kors and most importantly, Carolina Herrera. Unfortunately, he was rejected on his first application. But this was Choi “Gaga” Minki, he would never give up on his dreams.

The same summer Minhyun flew to Florida, Minki left to intern at a then-small now-dominatory fashion house in Milan. He was finally accepted to his dream school the next year, and had visited Minhyun twice throughout his college studies, first during Spring Break and Minhyun had dragged the blonde male to Universal Studios, and second when Minki was escaping the annoying cold winter of NYC to celebrate the new year with Minhyun and a cutie he met during Fashion Week.

Among Nuest, it seemed like only Dongho followed the constructed path laid to him by his family when he was admitted to LSE. He was a bit disappointed when he didn’t get any letter from Harvard or UPenn or Stanford – _I was hoping that at least we can all be in the same country_ , Dongho said in a drunken stupor the weeknight before he left. All (or almost) sorrows were forgotten when he started his first month there. It was challenging and demanding living in place where his heart didn’t belong to, but he easily found comfort and companionship with another Korean citizen, also from a conglomerate family with a multi-million company to inherit back home.

Jonghyun, however, chose to go back to Motherland, wanting to spend his gap year at his grandparents’ house, after decades of institutionalized studying – 15 years including pre-K was just enough for him. It wasn’t like Jonghyun didn’t appreciate his educators’ effort, he was quite a teacher’s pet after all and Minhyun always jested him about it. But he often got into debates with their instructors and fellow classmates, especially on philosophical questions that even (especially) Minhyun didn’t have an answer to. Dongho would usually have a witty remark on hand and they would all laugh about it. Jonghyun’s thought were not specifically geared towards the cliché “ _What is the Purpose of Life?”_ or as silly as “ _The cup, is not a cup, or is it?”_ type of questions. His inquiries were more of _incorporating proximal knowledge in human’s daily life decision making_ or Minki’s favorite, _the amount of inevitable risk to take for a meaningful life_. Minhyun never really knew if Jonghyun ever gotten an answer, or at least a satisfying enough response for all his questions.

 

Now, Minhyun considered himself as a successful pilot, driving regional and international planes in the States. Minki, or his fashion-statement name, Ren ran a glamorous fashion boutique in Milan while Dongho who mostly traveled between Japan and South Korea worked as one of the youngest manager of the Kang corporate. The last time he heard it, Dongho was about to be promoted to the CEO position when the Chairman, his great-grand uncle handed over his position to Dongho’s father, who was also the current CEO of the company. It had been a family business for decades, and Dongho’s family was planning to keep it that way.

 

“I’ve missed you.”

Minhyun earnestly said, his own voice echoed in the room.

Jonghyun threw a glance from the cup he was holding towards him. Minhyun could hear the sloshing of tea in his cup as Jonghyun gently waved his wrist, the liquid rocking gently against the side of the China. He took a sip and put the cup down on its saucer.

“I have to admit, I missed us. Baekho, and Minki, and you too. Remember when we-“

“When we were young and stupid.” Minhyun realized he had interrupted him and gestured him to continue.

Jonghyun let put a long breath as if he was holding them the whole time they were conversing.

“When we were too naïve to understand the discrimination against people who were,” Jonghyun contemplated for a second, “different from the majority, the ones whose puzzle edges would never fit in to the society’s mold.”

“We were,,, quite wild back then, I have to agree. Trying to defy rules, bending the law. I still remember you won’t back off the argument, trying to defend that kid when the stupid jocks said homos would burn in hell. We were just in middle school yet you spurted out the whole reference from the Bible, Quran, Torah or whatever holy references you used that I didn’t even know you had read! You had my respect back then, and until forever, you always will.”

“I was wrong.”

“What?”

“I was wrong to think that this society still have the plasticity to change when the template, or the construct, set by some supposedly wise elders, had been permanently fixed and gone rigid with no room for error. The bar had been set too high, and whomever that didn’t reach the limits will stumble down to the depths of shame and humiliation. The society has the capacity to determine the right from wrong, only that the right was their kind of right, and the wrong was their kind of wrong.”

Jonghyun avoided Minhyun’s gaze to his shoulder again, face still smiling yet it never reached his empty eyes.

“I was different from them after all. I was wrong since my first breath and with more breath taken, even more mistakes blending themselves as invisible scars all over my wicked body.”

Minhyun wanted Jonghyun to stop talking now. His body started to shake, his breath was getting hitched and he was feeling nauseous. He wished there was something that he could say to make Jonghyun stop, but his words were painstakingly stuck at the tip of his lips, and the way his eyes rolled from left to right incessantly should give an indication that he wanted Jonghyun to stop, but the older male continued.

“I am a code 404 all along.”

 

Minhyun dashed to the washroom at the back of the house, splashed some water to wake him up. He was feeling butterflies in his stomach, not the fluttering kinds, but the stomach wrenching, gut eating type of butterflies. He could never get used to this, to hearing Jonghyun’s faulting himself. He took deep breaths - _inhale, exhale_ – until he was sure he was fine to face the older again. And when he came back, he saw that Jonghyun had had his attention to a white book.

 

“I’ve read the book,” Minhyun gazed at the John Berger’s _And Our Faces, My heart, Brief As Photos_ book that Jonghyun was holding.

“You seems to be very attached to it from the last time I saw you, so I, despite my poetic literature illiteracy, forced myself to read it, so that you know, I could at least have something to talk to you about.” Minhyun heard Jonghyun chuckled and closed the book and put it down on the table, and look straight at Minhyun.

“The poem I just read...”

“Yeah what about it?”

“It was, beautiful.”

“As beautiful as us.” Both Minhyun and Jonghyun had said it together, and the latter let another chuckle escaped his lips. Jonghyun poured more tea in his white cup.

“Remember when we were in 9th grade and I said you were beautiful. I meant it until now. You were so fiery for life and you kept pushing yourself further to reach your ambition. Your dreams. That was the day that I realized I have fallen in love with my best friend. I was satisfied to be by your side, as we cheered for Dongho for his football match even though none of us understand the rules, when we cried for Minki when he was hit by his father again, when you were presenting your science fest project in all your nerdy glasses and geeky terms, I was happy during all of the times we spent together. But I was different, and it was too greedy of me to hope that your smile will only be reserved for me.”

Jonghyun smiled and took out a small bottle filled with transparent liquid from his cardigan pocket. The heavy thud sound was pointlessly loud when he put it down on the table.

“I want you to know, that none of this is any of your fault. I have met so many wonderful people in my life. I have no regrets. The only thing that I’m sorry for was that I broke our promise to stay together until the end, whenever the end is.”

The clinks from the small bottle and the ceramic cup reverberated in the room and that had caught Minhyun’s word in his throat. Slowly, the small bottle was half-emptied as Jonghyun poured its content into his tea. Minhyun tried to say something, anything, but it was hard to do so when he was also choking on his tears.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it, how a small fragile flower can lead to, a silent death.” Jonghyun smiled his sincere smile, not the fake bright one he had when he said goodbye to them the day before. In this silent room, Minhyun could almost hear every gulp, every breath and every movement that Jonghyun made when he drank his tea, for the last time. Minhyun watched him, fingers twitching at mouth of his own glass of wine.

“I wished I could have done something.” Minhyun had his head down, trying so hard to not let his tears fall.

“I wonder if sometimes, time has stopped for you too.”

“My heart stopped beating when I found you here.”

“Don’t be a coward like me, Minhyun-ah. And don’t let yourself be defeated by other people’s words and ideas.” There was a pained expression on Jonghyun’s face, but he braved a smile before continuing. “Never be afraid of love.”

“I could never say that word again after you left, not to our friends, not as a joke and especially not to _him_. I hate you.”

“This is all that I can say. I love you, Minhyun.”

Jonghyun looked at him straight in the eyes and slowly, his head lolled back on the chair. After all these years, Minhyun heart still broke with the sound of silence.

 

 

 

 

 

_5 years ago…_

 

BREAKING NEWS. The youngest son of the conglomerate Kim had taken his own life at the young age of 22. Even though the cause of death are not official yet, the police had concluded that the victim had self-swallowed a deathly dose of Hemlock in his tea. So far, there is no confirmation whether he had a history of mental issues and suicide attempts, or he was simply following the footsteps of Socrates, who might influence his choice of poison. The police also found a camera, still recording by the time the team arrived at the crime scene after an 112 call was made by the victim’s group of friends who found him late afternoon, along with a presumed suicide note in the form of a video taken right before he exhaled his last breath. Official reports will come in by tomorrow. I’m Lee Gunhee, reporting live from Ganghwa-do, Incheon, for RBW news.

**Author's Note:**

> I cried, a lot, while writing this, and it took me a while to convince myself to post this. And, Things Left Behind is my first completed fic and had been in my folder for ages lol. English isnt my first language, and even when I proofread it, its a bit confusing for me haha. Criticism and feedbacks are very much welcome. And oh, as cliche as it might seem, New York is a place that I would love to go again for a visit, so a lot of my fics will probably be based there.
> 
> Here's the link to the MV - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6AzbOupbxk


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